


God means for one mortal to help another mortal

by StrayLiger



Category: Gundam 00
Genre: Fluff, Platonic Female/Male Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 08:10:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17525024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrayLiger/pseuds/StrayLiger
Summary: The last time someone talked to him about god… well. It ended up with him on that particular mattress, high as a kite on painkillers, with a hole in his shoulder.





	God means for one mortal to help another mortal

**Author's Note:**

> WELL it's been a while since I posted something!! I found this old thing in my drafts after my upteenth rewatch of Gundam 00. Ep15 of s2 left me wanting more of Setsuna and Marina's interactions-I will never forgive the manga for making their relationship romantic even if it was lowkey, because they had something so special and interesting and rare.
> 
> I just wanted to write a purely platonic but affectionate and peaceful moment between them because god knows they both deserved time to have a proper conversation and never got it.
> 
> Also, the title and Marina's quote are taken from Rosa Montero's Story of the Translucent King, one of my favorite books ever, which I was rereading at the time-that quote has always resonated with me powerfully.

“I have been thinking about what you said.”

Setsuna opens an eye almost lazily. Marina is sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching the children; Shirin brought, to their immense joy, many blocks of paper and new boxes of colored pencils, and for the last hour they have been blessedly quiet.

It’s not like they bother him: the kids (Setsuna has to make a conscious effort to not refer to them as  _ orphans _ ) are usually very well behaved. They understand that he is hurt and try to be as quiet and careful as they can around him, and Setsuna suspects that they seem to be more concerned about disappointing or worrying Marina, than about hindering his recovery. He almost feels bad for taking their safe space like this. The people of Katharon have gone the extra mile to paint the room a bright sky blue and stocked it as well as they can with toys, to make it as comfortable and cheerful as possible; Setsuna feels like a nasty stain in an immaculate white sheet, something filthy and out of place in that peaceful space. Something the children shouldn’t have to see.

Marina has reassured him many times that they don’t mind, that everything is alright: Setsuna can guess what she’s not telling him. That the med bay is probably undermanned and overcrowded already, that he’s probably in really good shape compared to most of Katharon’s members. And he suspects that Marina does this for herself too. For the sake of having  _ someone _ she knows around. Setsuna thinks it’s sad that Marina wants  _ him _ around her. 

He can’t think of one good thing he’s ever done for her to want him around.

The former princess of Azadistan turns to look at him.

“Setsuna?”

Setsuna blinks slowly, and realizes he’s zoned out. It’s been only two days, and he feels his strength coming back by moments, but the painkillers they’ve given him for the bullet wound leave him groggy and disoriented.

“Sorry” he mumbles. “You were saying?”

Marina gives him a small, sheepish smile, then pulls the covers over him a little bit. Clearly, she wants to talk, and Setsuna is tired, but he thinks this is the least he can do for her.

“I said that I was thinking about what you said that time. About god” she explains, quietly. Her voice is gentle, warm. Setsuna has grown to admit to himself that he likes it a lot-everything she says sounds like a lullaby. It’s been a long time since anyone spoke so gently to him. But her words still make him tense up slightly.

“What about it?”

Marina tucks a lock of black hair behind her ear, and sits back on the edge of the mattress. Setsuna can tell that the hardships of living with Katharon have affected her too, by the way the mattress barely dips under her weight.

“Do you still believe there’s no god, Setsuna?”

Of course. He sighs, unable to help himself, and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. Slowly, he crosses his hands over his stomach. His eyes close without him being able to help it, but he doesn’t fall asleep.

“Do you still believe there’s one?” he asks after a moment. When she talks again, he can hear her smile.

“I figured you’d say that” she says softly. Setsuna opens an eye again to look at her with his eyebrows raised, and finds her looking right back at him, serious, but with unmistakable fondness, and he can barely take it.

“Forgive me” Setsuna says. “I can’t really think of a single reason why you would still believe. After…”

One of the kids, a little girl with pigtails, runs up to Marina, with a drawing in her hand, and the conversation is interrupted for a bit, while Marina compliments the child’s artistic’s skills. She guesses on the first try that the orange blob she drew is a cat (Setsuna, with his usual lack of imagination, had assumed it was -wait for it-  _ an orange blob _ ) and pats the child’s head proudly, sending her back with the rest to resume their activities.

At this point, Setsuna is still not sure of what the child’s name is. But Marina has memorized perfectly the names of every one of them, their favorite colors, their favorite animals, the games they like, the foods they don’t like to eat, their birthdays, the stuffed animals from the basket in the corner that they favor when they go to sleep.

Setsuna wonders, for an absurd, fleeting moment, if she’d be willing to remember  _ his _ birthday, his favorite color.

Marina turns to look at him, still smiling.

“After all that has happened?” she guesses, and he nods. The princess’s gaze wanders around the room, landing on the children who remain quiet and well behaved, focused on drawing, “I think it’s precisely because of that.”

Setsuna listens in silence. Another thing he’s learned about Marina is that she loves telling a good story, and explaining things, and teaching to others, and that people around her like to listen.

“The fact that we’re all here, that you’re here. The fact that these children are here... alive and safe” she says gently. “How could I not? Someone cared for them, for me, for  _ you _ . Someone knew it was the right thing to care for another person, to save their life. If that doesn’t prove there is a god, then what does?”

Marina looks at him, and then lets out a small laugh-and her laughter is clear and bright like a silver bell. It almost makes Setsuna smile.

“I’m sorry. I totally lost you, didn’t I?”

“Completely” Setsuna admits, too weak to do anything else.

The princess of Azadistan chooses to sit on the ground next to him, where she can look at him directly without twisting her neck. (Setsuna can hear the children go  _ suspiciously _ quiet. He can tell they’re listening.) She seems a little frustrated: Setsuna knows that the children understand her metaphors with ease. They catch the meaning behind her words with ease through the images she paints. But Setsuna is…  _ painfully  _ blunt. It’s almost embarrassing for him to realize it. Then again, nobody has bothered to use metaphors to paint nice images of the world for him.

The last time someone talked to him about god… well. It ended up with him on that particular mattress, high as a kite on painkillers, with a hole in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles. “But please. Don’t stop.”

She hesitates for a moment; he can almost see wheels and cogs turn inside her head as she tries really hard to put her thoughts into words that he can understand. It’s ridiculously endearing, and for some reason, it makes Setsuna’s heart feel heavier than ever. Nobody should have to think that hard of a way to make him understand something. He doesn’t deserve that.

He doesn’t deserve any of this.

Marina places her hand over his. 

“ _ God means for one mortal to help another mortal _ ” she says. This time, her tone is deeper, more serious, and Setsuna realizes that she is reciting something, a quote from a book perhaps. “ _ And that is the road to eternal life _ .” She smiles again, a little sheepishly. “… Does that make more sense?”

Setsuna takes a whole minute to process what she just said, a minute during which they stare at each other in silence. Behind Marina, one of the younger children yawns  _ very quietly _ , as if he was afraid of interrupting something important. At this point, he believes that they, too, have realized that whatever Setsuna and Marina have developped isn’t romantic-but they can feel that it’s  _ special _ . 

_ God means for one mortal to help another mortal. And that is the road to eternal life. _ The part about eternal life doesn’t mean anything to him. He has been ready to die since he was eight years old, and the possibility of disappearing doesn’t really bother Setsuna anymore. But the rest of the sentence… of course, Marina Ismail would end up being the way she was, if she had grown with that kind of god in her mind and her heart. They couldn’t be more different, but somehow, Setsuna  _ understands _ .

Finally, Setsuna smiles, and he guesses he must look as awkward as he feels, because Marina’s eyes widen in surprise like he just suddenly sprouted an extra arm.

“It does” he says, and adds: “I like it.”

Marina stares at him for a few seconds before smiling too. Setsuna closes his eyes again, settling back on the pillow.

 


End file.
